( maybe choosing to be alone in a place she was more than a little convinced wasn't even real hadn't been the right sort of choice. maybe there was very little way of actually telling if it was some dreamscape lie, or if this is what happened after vecna finishes whatever it was that he was trying to do, a place max would never want to call an afterlife. it also hardly seemed like something that sick freak would have created in his mind's eye and that fact alone might be a singular thing that stops max from losing her mind completely.
it will all be over soon still echoes, nauseatingly close to the surface like a tinnitus in the ears. it was so dark, then. so cold and so numb —
she breathes, or tries to, with hands curved over her knees and knuckles white and that's how wanda happens upon her, interrupting a solitary spiral into what must have been assured insanity.
there's something sharply unexpected in seeing the woman sidling up with the horse and for a moment max doesn't even know what to do except to stare. confusion grows when the woman approaches, when max realizes oh, she's coming towards me, some sheer rising panic, wrapped up in an attempt to look tough. to look like there's still fight left in her.
the resolve crumbles at the warmth of a stranger's words even if max can't help but stiffen when the touch lands on her arm. like she expects it all to change, from verdant greens and blues back to viscous red but then the colors around them seem to push back at visceral memory and its hard to focus on anything else. her tension almost eases.
which is weird, because no way in hell would max have let someone get into her space so fast, and especially not after what happened in the upside down.
(or maybe the adults in hawkins really didn't pay attention to their kids like others would.)
instead, she watches the woman's face, only vaguely ware of a palm soothing along her back. she frowns, some of that inherent, shitty attitude finally bubbling back to the surface even if it lacks the edges. ) Ugh — yeah. Don't take it personally, but I don't really believe that.
slides adoption papers across the table: please
it will all be over soon still echoes, nauseatingly close to the surface like a tinnitus in the ears. it was so dark, then. so cold and so numb —
she breathes, or tries to, with hands curved over her knees and knuckles white and that's how wanda happens upon her, interrupting a solitary spiral into what must have been assured insanity.
there's something sharply unexpected in seeing the woman sidling up with the horse and for a moment max doesn't even know what to do except to stare. confusion grows when the woman approaches, when max realizes oh, she's coming towards me, some sheer rising panic, wrapped up in an attempt to look tough. to look like there's still fight left in her.
the resolve crumbles at the warmth of a stranger's words even if max can't help but stiffen when the touch lands on her arm. like she expects it all to change, from verdant greens and blues back to viscous red but then the colors around them seem to push back at visceral memory and its hard to focus on anything else. her tension almost eases.
which is weird, because no way in hell would max have let someone get into her space so fast, and especially not after what happened in the upside down.
(or maybe the adults in hawkins really didn't pay attention to their kids like others would.)
instead, she watches the woman's face, only vaguely ware of a palm soothing along her back. she frowns, some of that inherent, shitty attitude finally bubbling back to the surface even if it lacks the edges. ) Ugh — yeah. Don't take it personally, but I don't really believe that.